April 28, 2020 · 9:34 am

worship

“It’s called ‘Fathers’, Hucka Doobie, a more interesting one from the Embarras series. And I think pertinent to the current story.”

“Current,” echoes Hucka Doobie beside Baker Bloch, visiting the just reinstalled Red Umbrella gallery in NWES as well.

“On one side, Hucka (he points to the right at a figure more in the distance propped up against a house): Homer, a famous father figure from Cartoonworld. And then the other…”

“Anderson,” spoke Hucka Doobie, looking left at another, larger figure walking down the road while stifling a yawn. “What the *heck* are you going to do when the 2 weeks are up? You’ll have to sleep at work!”

“I’ll manage.”

“I know you will,” Hucka Doobie said, finished with her joke. “You’ll be fine. The *characters* will be fine. Olive Green Pink. Phyllis Phox will finish her novel she’s already read and everything will be okay in the world again. The Corona-V brewskies will fade into the distance. People will set aside their individual realities to join together as one in churches across our fair (Abraham Lincoln) nation. The red book will also be put away in favor of starless black. No Red Star any more. But that’s Storybrook — which, like you know, you’ll be leaving in 2 weeks. What of the other places you need to go now, to complete the story of the elephant continent? So much more…”

“I know, Hucka Doobie. It’s as though I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“You know the danger.”

“Yes, Hucka. I suppose I do.” He turns toward the collage again and away from his closest friend in virtual reality now. “So about ‘Fathers’…”

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April 28, 2020 · 7:08 am

the problem with 3 and 4

“You don’t understand,” pleaded Olive to SEAN “Green” Penn. “Beige — I mean, Frankie *can’t* join our ranks. We must remain three colors and three colors alone. The contracts–”

“I don’t want to hear another *word* about those f-cking contracts!” shouted SEAN over the drumming, on his 5th Corona-V of the night. “And lean back and stay 6 feet the f-ck away from me, ho.”

Olive leaned back, but pressed him on the ho part. “When did you start calling *women* that?”

“That’s what you *are*,” he replied, defiance in his voice and washing another french fry down with a swig of beer. “With, erm, that *policeman*. The older one, not the younger one. Jeep or something.”

She laid down all the cards on the table. “Listen, *SEAN*. I’m here to help.”

—–

Pink was sitting too close to Olive but Olive didn’t mind. She knew it was all a ruse.

“Weelll? Whatdaya think? Pretty good tonight. I was feeling it.”

But SEAN “Green” Penn had other things on his mind. “Listen, erm, Pink. We have to leave this town. We gotta get away.” He glanced over at Olive, understanding the truth now. He didn’t want to look too long.

“Leave?” replied Marsha “Pink” Krakow. “But we just — just *got* here again. What about Beige, I mean, Frankie?”

“We’ll just have to take her along,” responded SEAN rapidly, sobering up real quick. “*And* the creepy photography teacher. We’ll just have to drag out the story elsewhere.”

“2 weeks,” reinforced Olive to her left. “That’s all we have.” She looked down at SEAN’s big feet tapping anxiously against his bar stool, as if they were on fire.

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April 27, 2020 · 6:46 am

Somewhere

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April 27, 2020 · 5:41 am

pageturners

“North America — he’s starting to remember, Izzy. Better try to call Pink again.”

“My darling Pink. How is she these days… Olive?”

—–

“I’m going to have to burn all these MapS, Jane. They’ll do us no good now.”

“Where we’re going,” she clarified.

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April 26, 2020 · 4:18 pm

Bigfoot Art Happening revisited/recontextualized

https://bakerbloch.com/reality/2015-2016/part-03/

Unholey Book (Red).

Catcher catching Ball below it (Greenilocks marble) during the meat of the event. Conclusion: It is Arkansas.

Later: Unholey Cave…

… and our Bigfoot protagonist Taum Sauk and his wife Mina bedding down within for the dark times ahead.

End of “Bigfoot Art Happening 2015”.

—–

Much much *much* later (2020): He has miraculously emerged in Our Second Lyfe! On a circular island making up a D’Vine Club, with metal *golf* club also in hand and rope similarly wrapped around left forearm to remember his existence in Bigfoot by (formerly named Ironton, Iron, Middle Game, etc.).

And then the also circular but considerably smaller island at the center of the neighboring sim of Danshire he quickly “moved” to, complete with Small Kowloon House. Briefly, that is — was he killed there along with the derezzing of the shack by neighborhood watch fanatic Red Pepper? Fellow former Danshire resident Phyllis Phox might know. If she weren’t combined with anti-self June Bug in the current novel. Current.

Whether dead or alive or something else altogether, we know he still exists in the Twin Peaks Laboratory’s Red Room — a waiting receptacle for both the Black and White Lodges — as confirmed later by Marion Harding and crime pal Philip Strevor. But where is his wife Mina now? (“Where’s Mina? Where’s Mina?”)


“Tell me where she is?”

Is this what Marion is really asking here? Too bad about Phyllis.

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April 25, 2020 · 7:50 am

switch

“I’ve got to figure out where I *am* in this story, Inspector-Chef Petty. Am I in Storybrook? Or — here?” The answer was obvious. He was here. He draws back out of the media feed in his adopted house in Greater Urqhart.

The butler came to him from behind with an offer of tea, which would have been his 6th drink of the day to add to 2 iced expresso beverages, 2 hot coffees, and 1 other tea, a blend of caffeinated and decaffeinated Earl Grey, mix in some Orange and Spice for pizzazz. Just like the one being offered.

“No thank you, Alberta, not right now.” Then Barry spoke again to the butler over his shoulder. “Say, you’re from Corsica originally, aren’t you Alberta?”

“Yes sir. The western part, or, more correctly, the southwestern part. I originate from a place called Butler as well. I am a butler and my place of origin is Butler but it is all coincidence.” He spoke methodically, something like a robot but not quite. There was still warmth in his voice. And the overtone trill of an insect.

Wannabe famous novelist Barry X. Vampire knew there were no coincidences, at least not in His Second Lyfe, by experience. He began to query more. It was thus here that he learned of his alternate existence on the border between Golen Hill and Golen Bay, with the same butler, with the same media feed, with Inspector-Chef Petty still by his side reading “Floydadada” or the “Necronomicon” or whatever the current book rage was, red one be damned. He will *not* pick up the red one and read, no sir-rie. But then he did — just found the book in his hands all of a sudden. Inspector-Chef Petty begins to red. A red door appears behind him — her, a portal…

“It is known for its great belts,” continued the butler, as if nothing had happened, no movement or teleportation occurred. “Black Diamond style. The word Belt is incorporated into the word Butler, after all. Think about it sir. Think long and hard about it. I will leave the great belt with you to decide.

Decide *what*? Barry X. Vampire ruminated as the butler left the object on the table before retreating back downstairs somewhere. “*Somewhere*, he then realizes, seeing the portal for what it is. Amazon — Basin. *Comet.*

The door opens.

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April 24, 2020 · 7:11 am

Afterwards…

… Pink had a frank (Frankie?) talk about the red book with her parents, so secret that I wasn’t involved (sorry). We must move on from Storybrook again…

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April 24, 2020 · 6:15 am

home

“Officer Ferguson’s just here to ask you a couple of questions, pumpkin.”

“Da-ddy! Don’t call me that.” She indicated her pink outfit. “Wrong color!”

“Oh, this won’t take but a second of your time, me laddie,” interrupted Tank Ferguson, uncomfortable with talking about colored people. “We’re just here to discuss your visit to the old Perch place from the other day. We suspect — an unrendering of volume.”

The Man — playing Pink’s daddy in the current scene — gasped from his corner, but the gesture was a forgery. Fooled Tank, though, which was the important thing in the moment. “You *didn’t*,” he exclaimed to his little pink girl. “So… you saw the Big Inside,” he further rationalized. He turned to Officer Ferguson. “I *promise* Tank, that this will *never* happen again. I’ll — well I’ll never let her out of the house again!”

“Da-ddy,” Marsha “Pink” Krakow offered quieter now. “It was just a one time thing. We didn’t *go* inside… the, you know, Big Inside. We just looked at it, peered in just a bit. Peeked in, ahem.” Marsha “Pink” Krakow knew she had slipped up with the mention of a “peak”. Tank Ferguson, who majored in psychology before switching to criminal justice just before what would have been his senior year, caught the Fraudian slip. Pink’s face started turning beet red. Tank pivoted toward The Man. “I think we know what’s going on now.”

“We *do*?” he sputtered, but also knowing full well what was going on just beneath the surface slippage.

“I’m going to verify it with that SEAN child who lives down on Arnold Lane and then Olive Green, if she’s returned from the monastery.”

“You’ll never find her,” boldly responded Pink to the officer, in full defense mode now. “She’ll always be hiding just outside your grasp.”

“Oh I think I know where I can *find* her,” retorted Officer Tank Ferguson, smug look appearing on his face. He stared at The Man again. “Just so happens *I* have a daddy involved as well.”

“Bazooka?” shot back The Man, truly thinking the old geezer was dead in his grave. He’d been away too long.

(to be continued?)

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April 22, 2020 · 8:46 am

grays and browns

Still engrossed in the red book after she was relieved of her lunch duties, Pink ran right smack into the rump of Ms. Crumplebottom at the corner of two streets.

“Lordy child!” the elderly schoolteacher exclaimed, then crossed herself and ran home to take a 120 degree shower, then turned the other way and took another. “1 year to retirement,” she complained while sudsing her hair a second time. “And that girl is trying to put me in an early grave!”

But then while drying she remembered the Corona-V wasn’t catching, it was just a catchy drink super popular in town right now. No one could go to church, read the proper, starless black book, and had substituted red for black, like Marty’s most recent hair color. 1975. A good year for Mars, and Venus along with it. Stars in general. Crumplebottom just had a bleed through experience, as if from another dimension (which it was). But at least she was super clean for her date with Bazooka Ferguson tonight, father of the local sheriff Tank Ferguson, the one that would later arrest — well, we jump too far ahead again.

But I think we’ve eliminated Ms. Crumplebottom as the bookstore owner, since she seems to be a local teacher instead. Don’t think you can be two in one, or at least go on dates, since you’d be working all the time. I think it has to be Olive. Maybe another poll is in order, alternate realities at stake and such.

—–

Meanwhile, within the brownstone apartment Pink just ran into Crumplebottom outside of, Bazooka Ferguson lamented the fact that he had to warm up to the school teacher with Olive. “It’s okay,” she comforted after the fact. “You didn’t go all the way through so it isn’t cheating.” She looked in his eyes for understanding. “Is it.”

“Now take off that old uniform and get ready for your date.”

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April 22, 2020 · 7:35 am

future now

She didn’t want to be a celebrity, at least like this.

The pressed followed her around like a pack of wolves, hounding her ’round every corner.

But that was far in the future. In the here and now of Storybrook (*not* Storybook), she was just a nobody, a local kid with a knack for smack — smacking around drums. People around her saw it as a hobbie not a profession. Sure Led Zeppelin, The Who made some money off gigs. But, looky, people would say, their drummers are both dead! You don’t wanna end up like them — do you?

She thought about giving up drums for the most part and taking up photography, like her new friend Frankie. Not *quite* close enough yet to earn a colorful nickname, but they’d been joking around lately it could be Beige. So it’s around. But what of SEAN “Green” Penn and Olive, the ones that had earned color so far? Completing his transformation, SEAN had moved into the green house over at the beginning of Arnold Lane, now covered up by sand and only known about through maps. Olive, I think, might run the local bookstore. Unless it’s Ms. Crumplebottom. We better go check…

Pink was asked to run the store while the owner went to get some lunch. Who could it be?

She’d started reading the red book that everyone in town was talking about, especially since the Corona-V beer became such a popular take-out order at the local bar. “6 feet, 6 feet!” everyone ordered about the distance between themselves and others, because no one wanted anyone else to know how much they’d been drinking. You could smell the Corona-V for 3, 4, 5 feet. But 6 seemed like a naturally agreed upon distance where the smell dissipated and everyone became the same again, subtract other obvious physical characteristics of a drunk. But that was the thing. You couldn’t *tell* just by looking at people if they’d been imbibing the toxic drink. “Oh Sam over there in the grocery store has been chugging them down,” Ms. Snippet, one of the town’s many gossips, might say. But really the only way that you could tell is by smelling their breath, if you didn’t see them down the brewskies personally.

Still waiting for the owner to show back up…

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